Lay of the Land
by Tinkerbell99
Summary: Reunited at the prison, Daryl, Carol, and Merle search for their footing on unfamiliar ground. Inspired by a season three deleted scene with Caryl undertones throughout.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: The Walking Dead and its characters (including bits of a deleted scene used here) do not belong to me.**

* * *

_She used to wonder, sometimes, what would happen if –_

_Once. Only once, she'd gotten so far as to creep into the kitchen under the blanket of a glowing moon, her feet peeling gracelessly from the linoleum with every sinful step._

_Finding the cold steel of the handle, Carol had drawn it back merely inches, its weight falling uneasily onto her fragile fingers. She'd chilled at the whine of metal as it scraped against the block, louder than a scream inside the silent house. Body frozen, her thoughts raced ahead to after – _

_After, with the bloody sheets and sticky knife. After, with Sophia sleeping in the very next room. After -_

_And the world had tilted cruelly underneath her stilling feet._

_She'd crawled back into bed beside him, her hand cold and empty from all she failed to do._

* * *

"Brought you some food."

Roused from a drifting half sleep, Merle pushed himself upright at the quiet intrusion. "Ah," he swallowed. _Play nice._ "Thank you."

"Figured you're a part of our family now." Pulling back against a mocking smirk, Merle accepted the tray. When the woman didn't immediately turn to leave, he motioned her awkwardly to a bench at the side of his cell. To his amusement, Carol accepted the wordless invitation almost eagerly. Angling herself toward him, she hunched her shoulders against the cold cement. "It's not much," she offered, "but given what we've had, it's a lot."

Taking his place on the cot, he studied her. For sure he should know this one. Most of these people turned tail to run as soon as they were left with him. Not her. She just gave a wry smile and leaned back to take in the filthy ceiling. "I should have been dead several times over."

"Ain't that the truth for us all." He agreed easily to her unusual declaration, but refused to give her the reprieve of breaking his gaze.

Giving no sign of discomfort at the scrutiny, she lowered her eyes to inspect her hands. "I think part of the reason I'm not is...is because people underestimate me." She looked up quickly before offering her plea. "Don't underestimate me."

"'Scuse me?"

"I've seen you making the rounds, trying to play nice." Behind her, Daryl's quiet footfalls approached from the stairs. "But if you screw this up, mess with Daryl," Merle's eyes flickered briefly to his brother's watchful figure, and she paused as if waiting for his full attention. When his gaze returned to the woman before him, she finished her threat. "I will slit your throat while you sleep."

Her last words had been nothing more than a whisper, too soft to be heard outside the suffocating cell. They hung in the air between them, ominous like silent lightning on a still summer night. Merle stared at her for seconds more, searching for what he'd obviously missed. He tried on a half huff of a laugh, but it died quickly under her steady gaze.

She stood abruptly. "Enjoy your food."

And then she was gone, Daryl's hovering form disappearing shortly after. Rising again from the sagging cot, Merle crossed the cell and stood at the edge of his territory, leaning out against the iron bars.

"Hm," he exhaled to the empty hall.

_So that's how it was._

And unsteadily he wondered what it was that made his stomach clench.

* * *

Through the dusty light of the late afternoon sun, Daryl watched his brother sleep. Sprawled on the worn mattress and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, it was easy enough to believe that this was just another day in the rotting trailer they'd shared before the world went to hell. Just another afternoon of Merle sleeping off whatever he'd gone and done the night before. With a resolved sigh, Daryl reached down to remove the tray of food Carol had brought in earlier. Just another day picking up Merle's leftover shit.

"These people got you playin' busboy, little brother?"

The sudden vice grip on Daryl's wrist surprised him. With a jerk, he fought off the reaction while an empty cup slid dangerously close to the edge of the tray. The fingers ensnaring his wrist loosened as the dishes rattled back to a steady silence. "Jesus, Merle," he hissed.

The ancient cot groaned under the shift in Merle's weight as he released Daryl's arm and rolled himself forward with a painful grunt. "Shouldn't sneak up on a man like that."

"Thought you were asleep."

"Thought wrong," came the mumbled reply. Scratching his cheek almost carelessly with the blade, Merle eyed the tray still clutched in his brother's hand. "Clearin' plates and doin' dishes, are ya?" His lip curled into a lazy smirk as he righted himself, planting both feet on the gritty floor. "Women's work."

"Just takin' them to get cleaned." Daryl turned to leave.

Merle sniffed, the sound too percussive against cement walls. "Mmm." He stretched his neck and thought for a moment. "Now, that's too bad. I was hopin'..." He let the sentence die and scrubbed one lazy hand over his face enjoying the burn of stubble against his skin.

Daryl's feet stilled outside doorway of the cell, just as Merle had known they would.

"I was hopin'," he continued, "that little mouse what dropped 'em off might come back. Pick up those...dirty dishes." He grinned a suggestive smile at the rise in Daryl's shoulders, then stood and took a few slow steps forward as his younger brother turned. Letting his boots scrape along the floor, he caught the smaller man's eye. With a knowing expression, Merle continued. "She and I, we had ourselves a real nice talk earlier." He draped his arm easily from the iron bars, fixing Daryl with a searching gaze. "A real nice chat." He waited, but it didn't take long.

"The hell'd you say to her?" The words streamed out through narrowly parted lips before Daryl could even consider them.

_So it went both ways._ Wasn't that interesting.

Pulling his face into a practiced innocence, Merle pretended to inspect the leather straps binding what was left of his arm. "Why, I didn't say nothin' out of line, little brother. We just had ourselves a conversation." He laughed at the narrow accusation in Daryl's eyes. "Don't get like that! Mouse was just tellin' me how things run around here. Fillin' me in on what I missed. Givin' me the, ah," he paused to consider his words, "the lay of the land, so to speak."

"Stay the hell away from her."

"She came to me, boy." Merle tilted his head. "Or is that your problem?" Off Daryl's flashing eyes, he allowed himself a wheezing chuckle. "Well, maybe it is. What do ya know? Ain't such a pussy after all." The humor drained from his face. "But in case you didn't notice, these friends of yours got me set up down here in a cage. One of 'em came to me. I was just bein' sociable. Just like we talked about."

"How 'bout you just shut the hell up?"

"Whoo-ee!" Merle let the grin widen across his face once more as the sound echoed damningly through the cavernous hall. "Damn! These people sure have done some number on you! 'Specially that one." He gestured his blade at Daryl's chest, then rubbed a thumb lazily over his lower lip in contemplation. He let his head fall to the side as if studying this new version of his brother. "Hmm. Got some backbone now, don't you, boy? I almost like it." He nodded slowly. "I almost do. Saw you watchin' us when she came in here. Now, you tell me, little brother," he leaned in close to Daryl and waited.

After a moment, Daryl's head inclined forward, too, and Merle smiled at the victory.

"Why was that?" he whispered. "You watchin' me, or were you watchin' her? You protectin' her from the Big Bad Wolf? 'Cause I'm thinkin' maybe it should go the other way around."

Watching carefully, Merle could just detect a muscle twitching in confusion. "Just stay away from her," Daryl repeated as he backed away.

"Happy to," Pleased with his discovery, Merle turned on his heel and crossed the few steps back to his cot. He sat heavily, then leaned back and settled himself on the flattened pillow. "Wouldn't want to wake up dead 'cause that mouse got it in her head I'm some sort of threat to you." He licked his lips of a wolfish grin and closed his eyes. "Best not underestimate her, baby brother. Little mouse has some teeth when it comes to you."

* * *

Daryl found her in the kitchen, scrubbing away at the remnants of their latest meal with a scrap of cloth and cold water that smelled of the same soap she used on their clothes. He watched her from the other side of the door, unseen. Watched the rhythm of her hands as she scrubbed the graying dishes into what passed for clean.

"Here," he finally offered, placing the tray on the countertop just beside her. "From Merle's cell."

She looked up at him, gave him that quick smile, that one that always looked like_ maybe_, and thanked him for the dishes. "You didn't have to do that." Carol swirled the cup and bowl into the water. "I could have gone back after them."

Shoulder twitching in a reflexive shrug, he watched the last of the thin layer of soap bubbles disappear and tried to work out exactly why he hadn't let her do just that. "Don't matter none."

Bowl and cup quickly scrubbed, Carol removed her knife from its place on the edge of the counter beside her and swirled it under the cloudy water. Satisfied, she set it out to dry, then reached for a rag and dried her hands. The water stilled in her washing tub, its oily surface shimmering slowly to a reluctant halt. "Well, he must've liked it. There wasn't a drop left in that bowl." She smiled softly to herself and began to dry the stack of plates with the same grimy rag. "Course, we're all about half-starved so I'm not sure my cooking had anything to do with it."

She looked up as she finished speaking, not toward Daryl, but straight over the counter, unseeing, and stared somehow past the empty shelves and prison walls. He pictured her then, the way it should have been, washing dishes in a polished clean kitchen in a quiet little house. Pausing in her work to take a brief look out a sunny window into a green yard bordered with flowers. Smiling as a little blonde girl ran laughing through the neatly trimmed grass. He wondered what she'd think of as she looked out that window. He wondered what she thought right now.

She lowered her head back to the murky water in the tub, and his spell was broken. "There something else you wanted, Daryl?"

Mutely, he debated what to say.

She spoke easily while polishing the last of the water from a bowl. "I only ask because it doesn't seem like you. Picking up dishes to return to the kitchen. Not that it wasn't nice." She fixed him with a teasing smile."Thought maybe you just wanted an excuse to come see me." Laughing gently, she lowered her eyes to her task once again, giving him the illusion of privacy to respond however he would.

He fidgeted for a moment, unsure how to ask. Unsure what to ask. Wondering what his brother had seen looming on the horizon that just wouldn't come into his narrow view. Wondering why her last words had hit him sharply, like an arrow finding its mark. He inspected the reddened skin around a fingernail while he finally chose the words. "Earlier, when you two was in his cell," he bit his cheek, "what'd he say to you?"

"Merle?" She smiled a look of surprise and reached for another plate. "Very little, really." Her water-wrinkled fingers rubbed tiny circles with the cloth. "For as much as he blusters, he's the quiet type when you get him alone."

Daryl scoffed in gentle disagreement before biting at the skin that just never seemed to smooth. He eyed her for a second more, his gaze sliding to the beads of water on her knife, shining like constellations in the sky. Swallowing, he pushed out the words. "What'd you say to him?"

"Oh, nothing, really. Just told him how things are around here. How things'll be." She squinted as she picked up her knife, polishing it gently with the rag. "It's good to have expectations. That way you don't underestimate things. Underestimate people." She shrugged harmlessly. "Thought I'd help him along with that."

"Givin' him the lay of the land," Daryl muttered, his brother's words coming back a little too easily.

She placed the rag on the counter and inspected both sides of her knife one last time before smiling softly and sheathing the weapon at her waist. "Something like that, I suppose." Turning toward him, she pressed her hands on her thighs, face drawn seriously toward his own. She took a heavy breath before speaking. "I want this to work, Daryl," she stated, her words falling heavily off the ledge between them. "Merle and everything else. Nothing's like it was before all this, and I just...I want it to work." She fixed him steadily with those eyes.

Wondering, always _wondering_, he waited long seconds before succumbing to a quiet nod. "Me, too."

Something like relief flitted across her features before she offered him that smile one more time. "Anyway, thanks for the dishes."

Her fingers, burning hot despite the icy water, trailed on his arm as she brushed steadily out the door.

Alone in the quiet, he was left to wonder.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: The Walking Dead and its characters do not belong to me. **

* * *

_He'd imagined it. Planned it. Envisioned the act until it became a part of himself, twisted and raised like the scars on his back._

_How easy it would be. Just take one of the guns. Fire one simple shot. Hell, just use the old man's own knife - end it the same way he'd earned it over all those years. Just one movement, one decision._

_But he found he never could._

_Always, _always,_ there was his skinny kid brother watching him. Daryl standing there with his shoulders hunched, turned and waiting in the very next room. With his eyes wide under scraggly hair, he'd wait, practically begging Merle to wipe it all away. Worse, he'd infinitely forgive him when he couldn't._

_He was stronger and tougher and far more capable than that mean old son of a bitch ever had been. And he was too weak to protect his little brother cowering in a corner in a red and white striped shirt._

_He'd had to walk away._

_From them both._

_For them both._

_And he'd learned, over time, that maybe Daryl's forgiveness wasn't so infinite after all._

* * *

It was still mostly dark when Merle was awakened from a restless sleep. The scrape of metal bars being retracted from the door of his cell jolted him awake. Launched him cruelly from one nightmare into the next. In the faint bluish light of the vanishing night, he could just make out Daryl before him.

"Get up. Food's ready."

Drifting into reality, Merle rolled off the sagging cot. He rubbed at a knot on his shoulder and reluctantly stood. "Thought I was s'posed to stay away from all those good people." He smirked. "Good State of Georgia lettin' me out on parole already?"

Daryl spared him a quick disgusted glare and began to walk away. "You want to eat or not?"

Left with few other options and a clearly ended conversation, Merle followed behind his younger brother. Moonlight glinted off the ever-present crossbow on his back. Questions pushed at the tip of Merle's tongue, but he held them at bay after watching his brother's unyielding stride.

When they reached what had once been the kitchen, Daryl entered first, giving no notice to his brother trailing behind. Left to navigate the situation for himself, Merle watched from the cover of the doorway as Daryl merely sidled up to the pot of whatever was sitting on the counter and scooped himself a bowl. Snatching up an incongruous orange spoon, he shifted to accommodate the crossbow before being waved over by a group of those prison rats.

Surveying the wary stares of those before him, Merle stifled a reactionary smirk and crossed to the counter as well. Despite the coolness of the room, sweat pricked at the back of his neck. The Chinaman was nowhere in sight. Neither was his little girlfriend, and despite himself Merle couldn't help but feel a heartbeat of relief. He bent over the pot for longer than was needed, finding himself uneasy with their accusing stares.

Finally, his own eyes slid sideways from the pot at the gravelly rumble of his baby brother's voice. "You see that worn area of fence over by the guard tower? You think it's worth patchin' with that extra lumber?"

The Chinaman may not have been around, but Officer Friendly sure was. "Yeah, probably best we fix that up first before moving out any farther."

Rick's eyes flickered across Merle as he spoke. Taking that as his cue, he retreated to a darkened wall and leaned against it to begin his meal. Awkwardly balancing the bowl on his ruined arm, he watched as Daryl and the cop talked. His baby brother faced him head on. Stood shoulder to shoulder. Looked him in the eye.

When Officer Friendly moved to take a place at a bench, Merle expected that Daryl would come to him against the wall. Instead, he grabbed his bowl and made his way over to one of the tables. Placing his food on one end, he sat himself down next to that woman from the day before - _Carol _- that was her name, and started eating without so much as a glance toward Merle.

Merle watched them there, took in every last move from his place in the shadows with the concrete cold against his back. Watched as his baby brother sat right down next to Carol, so close their shoulders almost touched. He didn't speak much, just nodded from time to time and spoke only a word or two throughout the meal.

But he saw what Carol did. He saw the glimmer of a smile on her face when Daryl took his place at her side. Noticed the way she slowed down her meal so that they'd finish at the very same time. He wondered if she realized she did that at all.

And when the meal was done, she rose first, placing one delicate hand on Daryl's shoulder to balance herself as she stood. And his baby brother didn't flinch at all.

He handed her his plate like he'd done it a million times before. Gave her what passed for a smile as she brushed by. Daryl watched her as she walked away.

And as the sun rose and light filtered in through the windows high above, Merle watched the pieces fall into place.

* * *

The midday sun beat down on the yard, washing the world in a merciless glare of white. Stepping out from the cool darkness of the prison, Merle ran a hand over his face as he squinted against the punishing light.

He had to know, _needed _to know before making his choice.

He couldn't protect his baby brother back then. Maybe – _maybe _– they could now.

Daryl watched him like a hawk every minute he was freed from the confines of his cell. The others tracked him from the corners of their eyes, but his baby brother watched openly. Intercepted him every time he got too close. Too close to any of them. Too close to _her_.

Finally, that old man, Santa Claus on a pirate's peg leg, had called for his little brother's attention across the yard and he'd had his chance.

He watched her straddling a wooden bench. The wood was bleached and splintered from long exposure to the weather. She was sewing, he realized. Taking advantage of the light the sun provided. Dampened with sweat, her hair curled in wispy tufts against her sun-reddened neck. He watched for a while as she worked.

"Something on your mind, Merle?" Carol hadn't turned to see him. Nevertheless, she sensed his approach. Something like appreciation crossed his features and he took his cue.

"Just been tryin' to figure you out." He took a few steps forward, eyes lifted to the cloudless sky.

She raised her eyebrows in amusement and spared him a glance over her shoulder. "That so?" Off his nod, she shook her head. "I wouldn't think it'd be that hard."

He swept in close, taking a seat on the bench beside her. "Oh, I don't know 'bout that. Ain't every day some little mouse threatens to slit my throat."

She continued her task for a moment more before responding with her eyes still fixed on the thread. A hint of an amused smile played at the corners of her lips. "No, I suppose it isn't."

"Startin' to think maybe there's more to you than meets the eye."

Carol didn't respond. He watched her fingers, pale and lean, dance with the needle and cloth. His eyes narrowed slightly as he lifted them to her downcast face. "What is it between you and my brother?"

Although her face betrayed no emotion, Merle didn't miss the reddened skin creeping up her neck.

"What do you mean?"

A disbelieving smirk pulled at the corner of his lip. "Ya threatened to kill me in my sleep, Mouse. You don't seem like the murderin' type."

She could almost feel the cold steel of the kitchen knife in her palm. Taste the bitterness of failure in her mouth. "No," and regret coated her words. "At least I wasn't. Guess things might be a little different now."

Letting it pass, he asked again. "So what is it between you and him?"

"Daryl's part of our group. Part of our family." She knotted the thread and snapped off the end with her teeth. " I'd do the same for anyone else." She reached hastily for another garment.

"Mmm," he considered. He allowed her to play at innocence for a moment before lowering his voice to continue. "That may be true. But that _ain't_ what you said."

She knew her mistake the moment her blue eyes lifted to his in surprise. Trapped in his searching gaze, she knew exactly what he saw. Swallowing, she held his stare. "No," she admitted lowly. "It's not what I said."

She tried, then, to break away. Feigned a movement to adjust the brown-red bloodstained shirt in her hands, but he seized her wrist in a lightning fast strike. His fingers snared and pinched far too tight, easing only when she lifted her eyes back to his darkened view.

He leaned in close, eyes flickering to the knife sheathed at her waist. "Would you really use that there knife and slit my throat...for him?" Something like_ hope _edged in his words.

She swallowed. "In a heartbeat."

The moment hung between them, and Merle made his choice.

"Good."

A cautious breath later, he released her arm. Swinging his leg back over the bench, Merle stood. He took two long strides back toward the shaded prison before slowing to a stop. Turning, he took in a breath and faced her once more. "He came back for you."

Carol looked up in surprise from the red and white shirt awaiting mending in her lap. "What?" Her face pulled in confusion while she absently rubbed her swollen wrist.

"When we was gonna strike out on our own after gettin' out a Woodbury. We was gonna leave and take our chances, but he changed his mind. Said it was because of the group." He spit out those last words with a mocking hate. Merle swallowed and looked her in those widened eyes. "It was because of you."

Caught in uncertainty, she said nothing. They both started at a percussive shout from across the yard.

"Merle!" Daryl stood near the fence and a growing pile of lumber. He gestured with his chin for Merle to join him. Offering his own acknowledging nod to his brother, Merle turned back to Carol.

"Just thought you should know that." He began to take his leave.

"Merle," she called after a few retreating steps. She bit her lip, unsure how to continue. He didn't bother to turn, but his boots stilled in the grass. "How...Why do you think that?"

He shrugged and squinted up at the overhead sun. "Whatever I done...I know my baby brother." He turned. "You keep that knife ready for him. Got that?"

With the barest solemn nod, she watched him trot across the yard and wondered why it felt like good-bye.

* * *

**A/N: I am so sorry this update took forever. This gave me fits to write. I tried and tried to work it into a "missing scenes" sort of thing, but that just wasn't happening. Instead, I suppose I now think of this as "replacement scenes." **

**In other news, today's the day! It's back! Caryl on!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: The Walking Dead does not belong to me. If it did, I'd make a few changes… Hershel's words here regarding the people we know least belong to the writers of Lonesome Dove: The Outlaw Years. (Anyone know that one? Anyone?) Slightly heavy Merle and Daryl moments ahead…**

* * *

"Daryl? Son, will you come with me?"

It was with a certain degree of frustration that Daryl had followed Hershel out of the prison and toward the cement slab where they kept the spare cars. Merle, he noticed, took the opportunity to slip away almost immediately. Daryl swore quietly as he watched his brother step into the sunlight and approach Carol in the yard.

Gritting his teeth at the sight, Daryl stopped short as Hershel's crutches tapped to a halt. Weighted down with rocks on the hood of a car was a tattered paper map. Daryl's eyes darted toward Merle, who had seated himself on Carol's bench, then back to Hershel in impatient expectation.

The older man tilted his head in something like sympathy. Ignoring the map, he studied Daryl before speaking. "I spoke to your brother not long ago. He's an interesting man."

Daryl tensed, the realization that this conversation had very little to do with prospective towns to search and much more to do with the scene taking place across the yard dawned unpleasantly over him.

Instead of elaborating on his initial statement, Hershel tried a different path. "It took me a great deal of time to come to the realization that things now are not how they were. That while I sat on my farm, the world had changed, and that all that was left was for the people in it to change as well. Some for better, some for worse."

Daryl watched as his brother and Carol spoke mutely across the yard.

"My girls carry guns," Hershel continued. "They use knives. There's very little left of what they were, especially of Beth. And as hard as that was for me to take, I am grateful for it. I am grateful that they've adapted to this world and that they've survived. The alternative is more than I could bear."

Daryl tensed as he watched Merle's hand dart out to capture Carol's wrist. He straightened immediately, ready to bolt until Hershel's crutch crossed his body as a warning. The old farmer's eyes were also trained across the yard. Together they watched as whatever Carol said caused Merle to drop his hand.

Daryl relaxed ever so slightly and leaned back against the hood. Hershel sighed. "As I said, we've all changed." He gestured with his chin to Carol's straight-backed form. "That's not the same woman I met on my farm."

Daryl swallowed, but didn't speak. Even if he could, he wondered what he'd say.

Hershel's eyes demanded his attention. Reluctantly, Daryl relinquished it. "And I'd wager a guess that you aren't the same man you were before all of this either. And neither is your brother."

"We were gonna…" Daryl stopped, unsure why he'd said the words. It had been so long ago. A lifetime, even more. "At the quarry, back before the farm. Merle and me…" He closed his eyes against the sun. Carol's imprint burned behind his closed eyes. "Doesn't matter now."

After a moment, Hershel turned to finger the tattered edge of the map. "You know, they say that the map we're used to, the map of the world, isn't really that way at all. That things are stretched, closer or farther apart, larger or smaller, not shown the way they actually are."

Daryl looked to him in confusion, not following the turn in conversation.

"When you take something round, like the Earth, and try to flatten it to fit on a sheet of paper, everything gets changed out of proportion. The way we usually see the world isn't the way it is at all."

"The people around us," he continued, "they're the same way. The people closest to us, well, sometimes they're the ones we know the least. We think we've got them all figured out until they act different and surprise us. We've got them figured out before they figure themselves out. Makes us think we don't know them at all."

Daryl watched his brother and Carol for a moment more before acknowledging Hershel's words with a slight nod.

Hershel offered a worn smile, then gestured to the wood pile across the way. "I'm sure you could use some help with that fence."

One more nod, and Daryl took his leave, calling to Merle as he did.

* * *

"Thought I told you to stay away from her," Daryl growled in greeting. Another load of planks hit the pile upon Merle's approach. He gestured to the rotting section of fence before them, and Merle tested the crumbling wood with the metal attached to his arm.

"Easy, there, little brother." His eyes flickered back to Carol, still mending on the bench across the yard. "Just havin' a friendly conversation is all."

Daryl scoffed as he heaved more wood onto the pile and went back for another load. "Be a first for you."

Allowing a smirk to open his features, Merle agreed. "Maybe so." He eyed his little brother curiously. "Lotta firsts goin' on 'round here."

Despite a cautious stare from Daryl, he chose not to continue the thought. They worked in silence for a while, the sun beating down over their heads from high above before slipping slightly downward in the sky. After a time, it became easier to tune out the incessant groans and snarls of the walkers held at bay just yards beyond them.

The routine was easy, mindless, almost. Haul wood from the pile over to the smaller stack before the fence. Pry off the rotting wood and reinforce it with new. Repeat. Over and over for what felt like miles and miles of unending fence line.

Several loads in, Merle paused to mop his face with his grimy shirt. He exhaled heavily and glanced down at Daryl crouched beneath him and hammering in yet another board. "When'd you take up with the Mouse?"

Merle had to give his little brother credit. He continued to hammer without breaking the cadence. Merle found himself almost impressed.

"Ain't took up with no one."

"Well, that's a cryin' shame. Seems to me a man might find some comfort wherever he can since the world's gone to hell." He stretched his neck and squinted across the yard at Carol's shimmering form. "Could do a hell of a lot worse than that one."

Heaving another plank onto the pile, Daryl glared but didn't respond.

"Might give her a go myself if I didn't think she'd cut my nuts off with that knife of hers." Chuckling, Merle observed with some amusement the tightening of his brother's jaw. "Course," he elbowed Daryl sharply, "that's half the fun, ain't it now? Hellcat like that."

So quick was the movement that even Merle was caught by surprise when Daryl's forearm pinned his neck against the fence. Eyes angry and wide, he breathed heavily, throwing his weight against the larger man. The walkers beyond them snarled their delight.

"Easy...easy." Merle lifted his arms in half a show. "Just playin' with ya. No cause to get everyone all up in arms."

Daryl's eyes followed his brother's gaze to Rick's watchful form, roused from a crouch across the yard. Stepping back, Daryl waved him off, but continued to eye his brother in disgust.

Merle ran his tongue over his teeth, but remained positioned against the fence. He watched over Daryl's shoulder as Carol collected her mending and headed indoors, most likely to start on the next thankless task.

Daryl returned to his work, but Merle waited a moment, watching before speaking.

"Just tryin' ta get ya ta look at what's in front o' your face."

"Ain't like that."

"Who the hell says it ain't like that? You or the Mouse?" Merle raised his hands in surrender once more at Daryl's threatening step.

"End of the world over here," he wheedled, still backed against the fortified barrier. "It's the damn apocalypse, and you're still pussy-footing around what even that damn kid with the stupid hat can see." He shook his head in disgust. "If it ain't what you want, brother, that's fine. But if you's just too damn chicken shit to try...hell..." He clucked his tongue and waited.

"She ain't..." Daryl shook his head and roughly grabbed another plank. Throwing himself behind the task, he roughly wedged it into a gap.

"She ain't what?" Merle followed. "She ain't keepin' your sorry ass fed? Mendin' your clothes? Watchin' you even when you think she ain't? You know she's got a knife point ready for anyone so much as gives you a black eye."

The only response was the squeal and splinter of another nail driving into the wood.

"And you's doin' the same thing for her. Ain't no way she made it this long without you lookin' out for her."

"She's a hell of a lot stronger than you know."

A satisfied smile pulled at Merle's lips as he absently stroked his neck. "Maybe." He shook his head at the falling sun and grabbed another board from the stack. "But you best not waste what's right in front of you, boy. No way to tell how much time we all got left."

Conversation ended, they continued their work until night fell upon them. When the last of the rotted wood had been pulled away and the last load of new lumber used to shore up the fence, stars were beginning to make their appearance in the navy sky.

* * *

Content with the results of their labor, Daryl leaned against the newly snug fence and unscrewed a bottle of water. He drained half of it, then offered the rest in wordless gesture to Merle, who was leaning beside him. Taking only a small sip, the larger man ran his thumb around the mouth, chasing a drop of water with his nail.

"I wish I coulda done it."

The words shattered the relative quiet of the moment, where even the drone of walkers had seemed to fade away. Daryl's eyes slipped over to Merle, but found his face shadowed by the creeping night.

"'Stead of leavin' like I did. Wish I coulda ended it back then." Merle remained focused on the half-empty bottle.

Realization fell over Daryl, his face growing damp and tingling from an uncomfortable heat.

"Shouldn'ta left you there with him."

Daryl's boot nudged the grass as breathless minutes passed. "Weren't your fault."

Merle exhaled a humorless huff. "I was gonna do it. Pop him with one o' those huntin' rifles from the shed. Take that son of a bitch's own knife and..." he made a vague motion with the metal remains of his hand.

Daryl parted blades of grass with the worn sole of his boot. He imagined he could feel each one through the thinned rubber.

"They'dve took you away." Merle lowered his head and picked at the leather strap bound to his arm. "Didn't much care what happened to me. That's why I signed up to head out an' fight them turban heads wherever they took me. But if I'da killed him, they'dve took you away." He fidgeted with the blade. "Figured, the way I left it, I'd always know where you were. Could always come back. Thought eventually I'd get you out."

Daryl remained silent. From the woods came the screech of an animal most likely caught by a walker's greedy claws. A few moments of that, then silence once more.

"I was wrong, leavin'. Didn't know how bad it'd get."

Minutes later, Daryl shrugged, worrying the skin of this thumb. "Was a long time ago."

Merle looked up to the stars, picking out the Big Dipper and the Little up in the sky. Together and apart for all of eternity. "Funny thing is...I left you there...but you, little brother, you're the one what made it out. You're the one still got a chance."

Their eyes met then. Confusion swam in Daryl's, while in Merle's he saw only something like regret.

"Hell," and Daryl looked away. "We're both here now."

"Yeah," Merle inhaled, studying the constellations one more. "We're both here now." Reaching out with his good hand, his fingers clenched over Daryl's shoulder. Light at first, then stronger and stronger until there would surely be bruises in the morning. Somehow, Daryl couldn't bring himself to pull away from the pain.

Grip tight on his little brother, Merle inhaled the night air and felt, for the first time, ready. Ready for a sacrifice twenty years too late.

"We're both here now."

And he held on like it was good-bye.


End file.
